


Drunk

by DaisyDogOx (orphan_account)



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Drama, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Humor, obviously, poor willow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 08:36:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11482671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/DaisyDogOx
Summary: Wilson is drunk. Willow is not amused.





	Drunk

Gathering logs for the fire was never a fun task, even with Woodie working with her. She was always given specific instructions to keep her lighter away and make sure she had a garland on her head. As if she'd let herself start another forest fire in a fit of insanity.

The lumberjack had gone off with Lucy and she was stuck with a regular old axe that was threatening to break any time she dug the blade out of a tree. It would be so much easier to just burn them all down, really!

Sighing with defeat and exhaustion, she wiped her brow and prepared another swing when someone called her name.

She'd been trapped on an island for an immeasurable amount of time and knew exactly what everyone sounded like, so when that didn't sound like anyone familiar she turned the tool in the stranger's direction and found Wilson on the business end.

"Wilson!" she snapped. "Don't sneak up on me and pretend to be some kind of monster or I'll skewer you and burn your remains so badly nobody'll recognize you!"

He laughed at her. More of a giggle, really. That was her first clue that something wasn't right. Wilson Higgsbury didn't _giggle_. Then she took in the faint pink on his cheeks and how he seemed to stumble over to her. The pieces fell into place and she was nearly ready to use the axe on him after all. "You aren't–"

"I'm here t' get firewood with Woodie," he slurred. He laughed again. "Wood with Woodie."

"You're drunk," she hissed. "We're all making sure we won't freeze or starve to death in the coming months and you're _drunk_. Where did you get alcohol in the first place?!"

"Made it m'self," he said, seeming proud. The moment was ruined as he hiccuped and it took every ounce of her self control not to grip the axe a little bit tighter and pray it stayed together for one last swing.

"I'll deal with you when we get back to camp," she said through clenched teeth. She didn't trust him not to wander into the swamp or get attacked by frogs on his way back. "Just... sit there and don't move."

He did what he was told, thankfully, and watched a butterfly flitting around.

"–choose the most inconsiderate time," she muttered, whacking the tree with everything she had. The neck of the axe finally splintered and she let out a frustrated cry.

"Back to camp?" Wilson asked hopefully.

She grabbed his arm and dragged him to his feet, stomping away. She didn't have any logs to show for herself and now she had a drunk scientist to explain. The others were not going to be pleased.

Maxwell then decided she hadn't suffered enough and it began to rain heavily, lightning striking in the distance and preventing them from going anywhere. She sat down under the tree she'd been trying to cut down and curled her knees to her chest.

Wilson mimicked her and wrapped his arms around her. "You smell nice."

She nearly punched him in the face. "Get off of me. You're drunk."

"I can still appre–appreciate somethin' nice."

"You're just so... _argh_! How come you get to just forget about everything for awhile, huh? Did it never occur to you that the rest of us are suffering, and will continue to do so while you black out later and have no memory of this? I hope you suffer the worst hangover you've ever experienced tomorrow."

She was rambling, projecting her thoughts onto the situation and trying to keep her voice from breaking. She was just tired of being stuck on an island full of people who she'd thought weren't like the others but just saw her for her pyromania.

Suddenly Wilson fidgeted, leaning against her and resting his head on her shoulder. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Well, that was enough to finally break her. She felt the first tear slide down her cheek and a choked sob escaped her. "It's not fair," she whispered, hands shaking as she held onto the garland. "Why am I still treated like a freak?"

The rain was getting to her. She knew that, but she couldn't do anything to change it. Wilson frowned and clumsily took off his vest, offering it to her. "S'not really dry or anything but it'll be another layer."

She nodded and draped it over her shoulders. "Thanks," she said numbly.

He put an arm around her and smiled. "I don't think you're a freak."

"...Thank you, Wilson. Let's go back to camp. It doesn't look like the rain's going to let up anytime soon and I'm not spending the night under a tree with you when you're drunk."

"I'm not drunk," he muttered.

"Yes you are. C'mon, give me your hand. There's no way you'll make it back on your own."

* * *

 

He didn't remember going back to his tent. He didn't remember much of anything, to be honest, and his vest was missing. The half-full vial in the corner and his pounding headache was enough that he could guess what happened. "I guess I should be glad my solution worked," he groaned, "but I've never been much of a drinker for this very reason. Wastes too much time that could be spent experimenting."

The tent flap opened and Willow ducked inside. "He finally wakes."

Bits and pieces began to come back as she threw the vest at him. The rainstorm. Her outburst. _Oh God I wasn't sober for one minute of it. What'd I say to her? Did I do anything stupid? Why did she have my clothes?_

She nudged a flask towards him. "Drink."

"Willow, I–"

"It's water, you idiot. It should help your headache."

He gratefully gulped it down and the pressure in his head lessened. "I'm sorry," he said at last.

"You didn't do anything too stupid so there's nothing to apologize for."

"No, no, not my behavior. I'm apologizing on behalf of everyone else. We shouldn't treat you like some kind of freak just because you like fire. Woodie talks to his axe. Wendy is haunted by her twin sister. I took forbidden knowledge from a radio. Wes is... Wes. You're no more of a freak than the rest of us because you like to burn things."

She didn't have anything to say for a minute and just stared at him. "...Are you always this nice when you're hungover?"

"If I keep talking I can ignore the skull crushing pressure in my head," he admitted.

"Duly noted. I may have to get you drunk the next time nobody will take responsibility for their actions. You have more of whatever you made, don't you?"

"No!" he cried.

She burst out laughing. "If only you could see your face right now, Higgsbury! I was just joking, but I appreciate your apology. Even if your words hold no meaning because you can't speak for the others."

He frowned and she ruffled his hair. "I really do appreciate it."

"You're hurting me," he said quietly.


End file.
